


That Ocean is Not Silent

by Rivers



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivers/pseuds/Rivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the suit kink meme at http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com. </p>
<p>Prompt by brilligspoons at LJ:</p>
<p>Charles and Erik getting ready for their excursion to the strip club - Charles has a hard time keeping his hands off Erik when first seeing him in that suit (or vice versa).</p>
<p>Link to prompt: http://tailoredshirt.livejournal.com/196313.html?thread=5427929#t5427929</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Ocean is Not Silent

They have somehow ended up in one hotel room with a double bed. This may or may not have had something to do with Charles’ subtly hopeful mental nudges to the concierge when they were booking themselves into what the woman assured them was the last room available.

In any case, Charles makes himself comfortable on the bed and sips his Darjeeling (plane flights always dehydrates him so) as Erik disappears into the bathroom to freshen up before they go meet their new recruit; his mind carelessly registers fragments of Erik’s quiet self-commentatory as he shaves, combs his hair, takes a piss and sweeps out the wrinkles of his trousers.

He is already standing up, ready to go, when Erik emerges in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, and takes Charles’ breath momentarily away. 

_Is that a three-piece suit?_

_Bespoke_ , Erik projects back, a small but distinctly smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thought I had better make a good impression.”

“Well, consider me suitably impressed*, my friend,” Charles replies, his eyes drifting appreciatively downwards at the way the dark cloth cascades down impossibly long legs, and catches Erik’s frown as he knots and un-knots his tie. “Please, allow me.”

He wills his hands not to shake as he works at the full Windsor around Erik’s throat and slides the knot up until it fit snugly under his Adam’s apple, the smell of shaving cream and pomade an intoxicating mix more potent than any aphrodisiac.

“Done,” Charles looks up with a smile and falters, his fingers lingering on Erik’s waistcoat with the prior pretense of picking away nonexistent lint, finding himself staring into gray eyes, made almost mercurial by the contrasting fabric. The depths of emotion, a hidden dynamic of heat behind the sheen of metal, makes his heart stutter quite painfully.

_Erik_ – His brain conjures up a plethora of filthy images all on its own; Erik’s hands all over him, caressing, squeezing, intruding unmercifully, Charles biting down on his tie; Charles sobbing and begging under the ministrations, with Erik still fully clothed in that suit, arousal straining against his trousers – Erik’s eyes turn dark and predatory and Charles has to fight the instinct to take a step backwards. Instead, he wets his suddenly dry lips with the tip of his tongue. Erik growls what are you doing in his head, and Charles does it again; he can’t help it.

It takes him all of three seconds to realize Erik is kissing him, lips hard and insistent and full of hunger. He allows his mouth to open and his eyes to close, as Erik licks into him, as if intending to actually devour him inside out; Charles shivers and moans, his hands wandering from around Erik’s neck and waist to that magnificent behind, and moans again at the feeling of taut muscle under the wool-silk mix. His belt and zipper undo themselves; he almost cries out in surprise as a rough hand grasps him though his briefs.

_Is this what you want_ , he hears in his mind, and he shakes his head, _more. I want more, I need_ \- He is dimly aware of Erik kneeling down on the carpet, and feels his erection jump in anticipation, the wetness staining the front of his underwear.

Erik sends him an image of himself through his eyes, mouth red and hair disheveled, shirt halfway unbuttoned, and Erik, still impeccably dressed, his long fingers freeing Charles’ – Erik tongues at the head for one lonely moment, then swallows him in one take, and Charles really does cry out. He tries to clutch at Erik’s hair, but is swatted away.

_Be good for me, Charles,_ Erik purrs in his mind, and it’s all he could do not to come on the spot at the intimacy of their thoughts, minds melding into one passion, tight and wound together like two strands of string in a rope. He seizes the back of a chair for support and lets out a barely-muffled groan as Erik’s tongue swipes across the underside of his hardness, licking, sucking, hot and tight and taking him impossibly deep – Charles’ head snaps back; his mind is gone, a litany of _yessohotsogoodyeserikgodyes_ –

_Open your eyes_ , he hears, and he does so, because at this point he’s willing to do anything Erik says, anything at all. Erik’s lips are wrapped around him, wet and swollen. His hair is perfect and his eyes are electrifying, the colour of stormclouds ready to unleash itself in the sky, and his suit, that precious suit, unbothered and unwrinkled, betraying nothing about the body beneath it, straining to release.

_That someone could look so ultimately unhassled and thoroughly debauched_ , Charles thinks blearily, and Erik grins around his cock, sending him shuddering from the fresh spark of desire up his spine.

_Erik, I can’t_ –

_I want to taste you_ , Erik says inside him, and there is nothing Charles can do or would want to do to stop himself from spilling over from the marrow of his bones, with a long, winded, breathless sound that he would never be able to remember without blushing. And Erik just _takes_ it, in that suit that is perfection objectified, and drinks it down like he was born to do so.

Charles almost slides to the floor himself as Erik stands up, dusting off the knees of his trousers. He reaches for the unmistakable bulge, but Erik beats him to it by kissing him soundly again, leaving him shaky and a little disorientated.

“Are you – “

“I will be fine,” Erik mouths into his neck hoarsely, “But I regret to say we’re already very late.”

Charles stamps down on the sense of disappointment and annoyance that burns in his gut.

_Maybe later, then_.

Erik smiles against Charles’ skin.

_Later._

**Author's Note:**

> *[A/N: I apologize for Charles’ cringe-worthy punning.]
> 
> This was a first shot at writing PWP. Gosh, I've nearly forgotten how mortifying it is to write so explicitly.


End file.
